


The significance of a letter

by chick_with_wifi



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mystery, Oneshot, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 14:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12608536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chick_with_wifi/pseuds/chick_with_wifi
Summary: Shaw finds a mysterious note in the subway station - has Samaritan found their hideout?





	The significance of a letter

“Next time I offer to accompany you on a stakeout, Miss Shaw, please remind me about this disaster,” Harold said as he sat down on the chair at his desk in the subway station.

“I don't know what you're complaining about,” Shaw said. “Last time I was on a stakeout it was three hours in the car with Fusco in charge of music, literally watching paint dry because the number was an artist. I suffered.”

“Yes, I see your point.” Harold began typing on his computer. “Do you suppose the good detective would be able to help us with this case? Maybe he could take a look at Mr Mawson’s file.”

Shaw shook her head. “I already texted him and he said he's busy with Lee all day.”

“That leaves us with no way of finding out Mr Mawson’s intentions with this money, short of knocking on his front door while pretending to be the owner of the business and outright asking him.” Shaw raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth but Harold cut her off with a swift, “No.”

She shrugged, “suit yourself.” Then as Harold turned his attention back to the computer screen, she went into the subway car to see if any of her guns needed cleaning.

But her eye was immediately caught by something laying on top of the computer keyboard. Something that definitely hadn't been there earlier.

She walked over for a closer look. It was a piece of paper, jagged on one edge like it had been torn out of a spiral-bound notebook. There was a message written in biro on it that read “somebody really needs to dust beneath this desk”.

“Finch!” she yelled. “Get in here!”

There was the sound of rapidly approaching and slightly uneven footsteps, then Harold arrived in the doorway looking worried. “Yes, what is it Miss Shaw?”

“This wasn't here this morning.” She pointed to the note. “Do you think we’ve been compromised?”

Harold fetched a pair of tweezers from a cabinet and picked the note up by a corner. “It is indeed possible that Samaritan might have left this to, pardon my slang, mess with us. But surely if they had found our headquarters then it would make more sense to blow it up, or something to that effect.”

“Maybe,” Shaw admitted. “But this is a more subtle scare tactic. Frighten us by dropping hints that they know where we are, wait for us to panic and make a mistake then swoop in with guns blazing.”

“Indeed. But first I suggest taking a closer look at this note.” He used the tweezers to carry it over to his desk then set it down. “Let's see then. ‘Somebody really needs to dust beneath this desk’, the message is innocuous enough. There doesn't appear to be anything else written on it, no code or hidden meaning.” He got a small flashlight out of his desk drawer and shone it on the paper. “No message in invisible ink.”

“You keep a UV light in your desk?” Shaw asked.

“You have your hobbies, Miss Shaw.” He then drew the magnifying lens toward him and peered through it. “There is a small inscription in the top right corner. Here, have a look and tell me if you think it is what I think it is.”

Shaw leaned over him and looked through the lens. “Yup, that's definitely what you think it is.” There was a small drawing, no bigger than a thumbnail, of the signature box the Machine used to identify people. “It's got to be one of ours, then, if they knew to draw that. Samaritan has a different shape box.”

“If that is the case, why would they go to all the trouble of leaving a note?” He continued to examine it, then pointed to one of the words. “Look at that smudging here, whoever wrote it is left handed.”

Shaw looked where he was pointing. Indeed, the ink was smudged on several letters in a manner that would indicate the message had been written with the left hand. She shook her head. “I’m gonna kill Reese, I can't believe he made us panic like that.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn't kill Mr Reese,” Harold said.

“I can't make any promises, Harold. Dude can't just go around leaving creepy notes about dusty tables.”

“It is rather dusty beneath that table.”

“Not the point!”

“Yes, alright. Calm down.”

The door to the subway station opened and John descended the stairs with Bear in tow. “I’m back,” he announced, somewhat unnecessarily.

Bear instantly ran to Shaw and she began petting him. “You're lucky you brought the dog,” she said, “otherwise I’d be going full Terminator on your ass.”

John walked over to Harold. “What's gotten into her? She seems even angrier than usual, if that's possible.”

Shaw gave him a dirty look but made no move to stop playing with Bear.

“Miss Shaw didn't appreciate the note you left,” Harold explained. 

“What note?” John asked.

“You mean you didn't write the note about dusting under the table?”

“No, I have no idea what you're talking about. Why would I write a note about dusting under the table?”

Shaw and Harold shared a worried glance, then Shaw explained their suspicions about being compromised.

“I see,” John said. “I have to say I agree with Finch, it would make no sense for Samaritan to leave a vaguely sinister note just to mess with us.”

“Since when has Samaritan made sense?” Shaw asked disdainfully. “That’s not how they work.”

“Just leave it for tonight,” Harold said. “If it is Samaritan, we will no doubt hear more from them in the near future, in which case you can say you told us so.”

-

Root got back from her errands late that evening, breezing into the subway in her thick winter coat and a beanie which were damp from the rain. Shaw was eating a sandwich and feeding the occasional bit to Bear, holding down the fort while the boys were out. 

“Hey Sweetie, did you get my note?” Root asked, giving Shaw a peck on the cheek, which she was too stunned to pretend she didn't appreciate.

“Wait, _you_ wrote that note?” Shaw gestured to where the note lay on the table and Root glanced at it to confirm then nodded.

Root took off her beanie and began to unbutton her coat. 

“But you're not left handed,” Shaw said.

Root was hanging her coat up to dry but paused when Shaw spoke. “What makes you say that?” Her tone was equal parts light and curious, but with a slight hint of defensiveness. 

“I’ve seen you write?”

Root still didn’t turn around. “I’m ambidextrous, Shaw. Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“I’m not. But you made Harold worry, he thought we'd been compromised,” Shaw said, not unkindly. Then took another bite of her sandwich.

Root turned around and leaned against the wall. “Right, I made _Harold_ worry.” Faintly amused, she gave Shaw a look. 

“Well yeah,” Shaw said around her mouthful of food. “I only care about the dog.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Sweetie.”


End file.
